Engaging Sir Isaac: An Inglewood Romance

by Britton, Sally

  “Essie, here you are. Do you know, I have been in half a dozen rooms in this house before finding you here?”

  She looked up from her letter writing, one eyebrow arched at him. The expression reminded him of Silas, somehow. “If you would have asked any one of the servants they could have told you where I was. Why you insist on wandering about my house rather than ask for direction, I cannot understand.”

  He grinned at her and came all the way into the room. “I suppose that would have been a quicker way to go about things.”

  “And the way most people would have gone about it. Did Bailey not let you inside?”

  The old Inglewood butler had. “Yes.”

  “A single question to him—”

  Isaac waved a hand to interrupt his sister’s lecture. “I know, I know. I was not thinking.” He winced the moment he said it as a triumphant gleam appeared in his sister’s eyes. She had often accused him of that very thing. Of the two of them, Isaac had struggled to put thought before action. It had nearly cost him his life and had certainly led to a great deal of heartache. “I did not return here to talk about my failings, Essie.”

  His sister gestured to the chair nearest her desk. “Please, sit. It sounds as though you have a specific topic in mind. Though, when we saw each other half an hour ago, you seemed quite done with talking.” She rose from the desk and came to a chair beside his, the two of them facing one another over a little table with a stack of books upon it. “In fact, you were put out that I asked you to speak to Miss Wedgewood.”

  “I was. But then I went and delivered your invitation for tomorrow evening as you requested.”

  Esther’s eyes widened and one corner of her mouth tilted upward. “Oh?” A great deal of suggestion underscored that single syllable. Her eyes gleamed. “What did she say?”

  Isaac’s posture stiffened at his sister’s expression, which went from delighted surprise to something far more calculating.

  “Miss Wedgewood is a friend to you, is she not?” he asked, somewhat hesitantly. He did not like Esther’s response to his words at all. That canny gleam put him off.

  “I would count her so, yes, or else I would not have extended so many invitations to her.” Esther folded her hands daintily in her lap as she spoke, not quite losing that scheming smirk. “Why do you ask? I know you were not overly impressed with her at first, but I thought at dinner last evening you had warmed to her somewhat. Even so, I worried you might not deliver the invitation.”

  “Perhaps I was too quick to judge before.” Isaac shifted in his chair and tapped his fingers upon the arm of the furniture. “While I was speaking to her to extend your invitation, it became apparent that she is having a difficult time of things. In fact, Miss Wedgewood believes that she is soon to be dismissed as a guest. I am uncertain why, but she was quite out of sorts when I left her.”

  “Oh dear. Out of sorts how?” Essie leaned forward, her eyebrows tilting downward with the weight of her concern.

  “Sad. Quite sad.” Isaac well remembered the way Millie’s eyes had changed from bright and shining when she greeted him to dull and withdrawn by the time she took her leave. Just as she had that night at the Barnes’ home, when he had caused her harm with his words. He had made that moment right by apologizing. He would make this right, too. “I thought you might help her. Perhaps invite her here, as a guest in your home.”

  Esther considered his suggestion quietly for several long seconds, to the point he was ready to ask it again in case she had gone temporarily deaf.

  “I cannot think that a wise idea, Isaac. We barely know one another. Her family knows ours not at all. It would not be appropriate. I will write to her mother, of course, and extend the invitation. But I can do nothing without the consent of her guardians. She is only one and twenty.”

  “What has that to do with anything?” He scoffed. As though age had any bearing—

  “She cannot legally make decisions for herself. If we transferred her to our home, and her family made objection, it would not go well for Miss Wedgewood or any of us.” She sighed deeply and leaned toward him. “Perhaps it would be best for her to return home. I might extend her an invitation to visit us next Season, at our house in Town.”

  Isaac stared at his sister and attempted to make sense of all she said. “You will not help her.”

  Her shoulders slumped and the look in her eyes came very near to pity. “I cannot. We must think these things through, Isaac. If I were to put on my bonnet and descend upon the Alderton manor, demanding that their guest be turned over to my care, that would not do the already strained relations between our families any service. The marquess and Silas are at odds over Silas’s refusal to step foot upon their property and his banishment of Lord Neil from ours. The only reason the two have not come to more public arguments over things is because they are part of the same party.”

  Though she might have a point, Isaac refused to concede the matter. “What has Silas’s grudge to do with Miss Wedgewood’s present need?”

  “You cannot save everyone, Isaac,” Esther said, her tone growing softer. “And nothing truly dire has happened. Miss Wedgewood only suspects she will be sent away. We do not yet know if that is the case. The absolute worst thing that can happen is that she will be put into a mail coach with her maid and sent home.”

  “But the gossip will not help her situation.” Surely, if Esther understood anything, she would understand that the wrong sort of gossip would hurt Miss Wedgewood further.

  But she was already shaking her head. “Miss Wedgewood made it clear to me that her family occupies a low rung of Society. So long as she is not compromised, being sent away as a guest will not harm them.”

  Isaac jolted to his feet and paced away, his agitation too much to bear sitting still.

  “Why does Miss Wedgewood’s fate matter to you, Isaac?” The directness of the question halted him in his steps. He looked over his shoulder, then slowly turned about. “You hardly know her, and you did not at all like her only a few days ago.”

  True enough. But that hardly seemed the point. “What is right is right, no matter whether or not I like a person.” Isaac did not suffer injustices done upon anyone within his sight. He would as resolutely stand for a vagabond as a prince, should he have the ability to prevent a wrong. “Miss Wedgewood has explained why she is present, what is at stake for her and her family. We know the marquess and his family are not entirely honorable.”

  “Isaac.” His sister stood with grace and elegance, as befitting her station. “I’ll say it again. You cannot save everyone.”

  Her words struck him like a blow to the chest. His arm fell uselessly to his side. “Just as I did not save you.”

  Color flooded his sister’s cheeks. Esther lowered her eyes to the carpet between them. “That is not the issue here, Isaac. Though I can see this discussion has upset you. I am sorry for that, and sorry that I cannot help Miss Wedgewood at this time. I do like her. If I think of another way to be of aid, without making matters more difficult, I will do what I can.”

  He recognized his sister’s dismissal, even though she would never voice it as such. Esther had finished the conversation. As he could not pretend satisfaction with its ending, he had no choice but to leave. Isaac bowed. “Good afternoon, Essie. I will see you tomorrow.”

  He left the instant he saw her dip her head in acknowledgement. There was nothing more to do. As a bachelor, and no more than an acquaintance to the young woman in trouble, Isaac could offer no direct assistance. Esther’s refusal to help was less understandable.

  Once Isaac had his hat and glove, he made his way back out the door to his waiting horse. Mounting one-handed had become a matter of some pride to Isaac. Yes, a block made things easier, but he hadn’t used a block to mount since childhood.

  Strangely enough, it had been Hope’s husband who had helped Isaac gain more independence in his riding.

  “Vaqueros ride one-handed; they mount in all circumstances and in all weathers
. I will show you.”

  Had the man done no more than love Hope, the Silver Birch Society would have embraced him well enough. But when he gave Isaac back the ability to mount and ride unassisted, the entire group had claimed him as one of their own.

  He hooked the toe of his left foot in the stirrup which had been adjusted to specifications given by Alejandro. Then he leaned his left shoulder into the horse, using what remained of that arm to steady himself. With two quick hops of his right foot, his right arm came up and took the saddle by its lip. With the momentum of his jump, leverage against the saddle with his toe in the stirrup, Isaac propelled himself up onto his mount’s back.

  “You are a good fellow, Prophet.” He picked up the reins in one hand. They had tried several of Isaac’s horses, from those trained as hunters to the carriage horses, until Prophet proved he had the patience and intelligence to work with Isaac’s unique mounting style. Not to mention the horse’s ability to follow verbal commands and whistles.

  The horse nickered softly and flicked his tail. He was not so tall a horse as Isaac had once favored, but the animal was worth his weight in gold, so far as his rider was concerned.

  Isaac turned them toward home, still mulling over his disappointment in regard to Miss Wedgewood’s situation.

  Why could he not shake the feeling that it was wrong to leave her to fend for herself? Esther thought his desire to help was uncalled for, unnecessary. But she had a point. Knowing he hadn’t helped his own sister when she needed him most had left his pride wounded. Not that helping Miss Wedgewood would heal that old hurt, but it might do something to lessen the sting.

  Especially given all that she had told him. Her elder sister’s betrayal hurt her, leaving her to feel abandoned. As Esther had felt when Isaac left her alone.

  He arrived home at Woodsbridge, affectionately named Fox Hall by his friends. He dismounted at the stables. After giving instructions to the groom, Isaac took himself off to the house. The wide, empty rooms made him shudder. They were too large, too empty, for anyone to be truly comfortable inside them.

  Isaac entered his study and sat without thought on posture or concern for the furniture, rather heavily. The whole evening stretched before him still. Alone, with his thoughts, there was nothing with which he could occupy himself. Not with any success.

  His hand twitched. He curled it into a fist. Even after more than a year without his left arm, his natural reactions to certain things had continued. Like the desire to scratch an itch on his left hand that no longer existed. Or the thought that he might reach for something with both hands only to have one appear ready to obey him.

  In his dreams, he had both hands still. Sometimes he fought with them. Sometimes he wandered endless battle fields alone, with only the refuse of war scattered about him. Very rarely, he had pleasant dreams. After his day spent with Silas, Esther, and Miss Wedgewood, his dreams had been calmer.

  Isaac shoved his hand through his hair, then loosened his cravat with a few tugs at the white fabric. It hardly mattered what he looked like. No one would see him but the servants, and if he took a meal in his room or study, only one servant need see him at all. His valet.

  Despite the fine day before, Isaac had still awoken before dawn that morning, in a cold sweat. Still, he’d pushed away the laudanum his valet had suggested as a helpful method of sleeping. Too many of Isaac’s friends now depended upon laudanum. Or strong draughts of bourbon.

  But Isaac, as much as he longed to forget his pains and memories, preferred to keep his mind sharp. To do that, he needed problems to solve. Needed things to turn his attention toward. He had found papers detailing some of his father’s old investments. Those ought to help him repair the decline of the estate. Silas had assisted with the dam project that would start in a few days’ time, when the laborers were free from other business.

  That left Isaac to pursue what he wished in his evening hours.

  Yet there was little to distract him. Little that interested him.

  Millie had been a pleasant distraction. First, trying to determine what her game was, why she had expressed her curiosity about him. When she had grown more open, more honest about herself, that had intrigued him still further.

  Now, she would leave, and that would be one less thing for him to think upon. One less person to befriend. And he was powerless to aid her.

  Powerless. Unable to do a thing to ease her way, to spare her grief when she deserved none.

  Isaac groaned and dropped his forehead into his hand, then rubbed at his eyes. Helpless.

  Chapter 11

  Waiting for Lady Olivia to return made the hours pass slowly. The marchioness had gone for most of the day and returned in time to nap before the evening meal. Millie took up her usual chair in the art room, Sarah at the table with her this time. The maid had apparently taken pity on Millie’s lonely state.

  Pity. What a powerful, horrible word that was. As Millie etched another line of ink onto the wood box, turning a sweep of her hand into the tail of a fox, she reflected on her conversation with Sir Isaac that morning. He had hated the very idea of pity, of it directed at him. How could he think himself the object of such a thing? She hadn’t seen him as any less of a man for the loss of one arm.

  Half of one arm, really.

  “Sarah,” she said aloud, filling her brush again with the ebony ink. “What hardship do you think a gentleman faces without the use of both arms?”

  Sarah peeked up from her work, tatting lace. Not all women of her position had such a skill, which made Sarah take extra care and pride in her work. She created beautiful lace collars for Millie’s gowns, as well as pretty bits and pieces to add to Christening gowns and handkerchiefs. “You mean Sir Isaac, miss?”

  “He simply made me think on the question. I am not thinking of him specifically.” Millie lowered her eyes to her work. Of course she did not mean to think only of him. As a woman, had she lost an arm, a great many of the skills most prized by the gentry would be out of her reach. Sewing, playing an instrument, even many of her artistic skills would no longer be achievable. And she would not cut the right figure in gowns, which always made a lady less than desirable.

  “I imagine it’s just about everything, miss,” her maid said lightly, turning her attention back to her tatting needle. It was made of fine bone, a gift from Millie’s mother to encourage the maid to practice her skills. “Except maybe writing. Gentlemen are expected to hunt. How does he fire a rifle? They’re expected to be sportsmen. How does he play cricket, or row a boat? Riding would be difficult.”

  “He rides quite well, from what little I’ve seen,” Millie murmured, keeping her eye on yet another stroke of her brush meant to make the curve of the fox’s shoulder.

  Sarah sounded far too amused when she said, “I thought we weren’t talking about Sir Isaac, miss.”

  Millie bit the insides of her cheeks and put her brush down. “Sarah. We both know the reason I am here is to help Lady Olivia revenge herself upon Sir Isaac. I cannot be his friend.” She leaned back against her chair and rubbed at her forehead, the beginnings of an ache forming just behind her eyes. “But I cannot do what Lady Olivia wants, either.”

  Sarah dropped her hands into her lap, her work forgotten, as a bright smile appeared upon her face. “That’s a mercy. I could tell you like the lady countess, and you seemed to enjoy your time spent with the whole family yesterday. I never did like the idea of doing what Lady Olivia asked. Not once.”

  Her maid’s vehemence drew a laugh from Millie, though it was not so much mirthful as rueful. “I know, Sarah. I could feel your disapproval at every moment. But this puts us in a difficult position. Most likely, Lady Olivia will send us home. And you know how my mother will take this latest failure on my part.”

  To Sarah’s credit, she never said a word against either of Millie’s parents. Her loyalty ran too deep for that. But she did allow herself a deep sigh and sage nod over the pronouncement. “It will not go well for you, miss.”


  A knock at the door made both of them raise their eyebrows. Millie rose, as did Sarah.

  “Come in.”

  Lord Neil stuck his head inside but did not enter. “My sister is at home. She arrived only a moment ago. I know you had something rather pressing you wished to tell her.”

  “I do. Yes.” Millie looked down at her brushes and hesitated.

  “I’ll take care of everything, miss. I know how particular you are.” Sarah immediately began to gather things up. Bless her. Millie had depended upon Sarah many times since they had come together as mistress and servant, and Sarah had never let her down.

  “I am coming, my lord.” Millie went to the door, which Lord Neil opened wider to allow her through. Together they walked down the hall toward his sister’s rooms. “It is good of you to offer your support, Lord Neil,” she said.

  The tall, fair-haired man shrugged his broad shoulders. He was a sportsman, through and through. Nearly every day she had been present, he had been out riding, training with the dogs, and hardly seemed to spend a moment indoors. That he gave her any attention at all, given at least a decade of years between them and her insignificance in the world, was a mystery to her.

  Yet she sensed a kindness to him, lurking beneath the surface. There was a depth to him he did not show.

  “Here. This is Livvy’s sitting room.” He knocked on the door, and his sister instantly invited whoever was without to enter. “Here we are. I promise only to keep her from drawing blood.” He made the jest lightly as he swung the door open and gestured for Millie to enter first.

  Millie walked inside, reminding herself that she had to appear confident, or Lady Olivia very well might draw blood. The woman had something of a cruel streak. “Lady Olivia.” Millie offered the requisite curtsy. “I must beg a moment of your time.”

  On an elegant couch with a curved back and plump cushions, Lady Olivia was lounging in a day dress and robe. She barely stirred when she saw Millie, but her eyebrow arched when she spotted her brother entering the room as well. “Can it not wait? I have been gone all day. I am fatigued.” She closed her eyes and leaned back upon the couch.